


The very heart

by KardiaB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Buckingham Palace, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Gen, Naughty Sherlock, Riding Crop, Whipping, abashed Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9717461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KardiaB/pseuds/KardiaB
Summary: We're at Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation... Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on! Here are the consequences for walking around dressed in a sheet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first submission to AO3 and English is not my first language. Please subscribe any errors you may find and I hope you'll enjoy the story.

At Buckingham Palace

 

„Get of my sheet!“ Sherlock growls, barely managing to cling to said sheet covering the last of his dignity. He has not wanted to come here. And he does not want to listen to the titbits Mycroft feels obliged to throw at him to get him to accept a case Mycroft is just too lazy to work out himself. And now his nuisance of a brother is stopping his grand exit.

“Or what?” Mycroft askes, making no move to release his younger brother. It has been hard enough getting him here and he is not inclined to let Sherlock leave just because he is wilful.

“Or I’ll just walk away.” He would do it. Mycroft might even die of embarrassment if he were to walk around Buckingham Palace stark naked. But considering the number of servants and staff he probably wouldn’t walk very far before he was subdued.

“Boys, not here”, John tries to interfere. Because that’s what they are – boys. Stubborn brawling boys, who do not even care that they are standing in the middle of Buckingham Palace while fighting. At last Mycroft is looking contrite.

“What is the meaning of this?” a sharp voice asks coming around the corner and stopping in front of them. They freeze – all of them.

The Queen, of all the people in the castle who were preferable to witness the dispute, is standing in the doorway escorted by two of her servants in smart red and gold uniforms.

“Your Majesty.” Mycroft blanches before hurrying to give a perfect bow.

John follows his example bowing way too deep but awestruck at the presence of the queen while Sherlock in a panic tries to pull the end of his sheet from below his brother’s foot, gives it up as a bad job and just bows deep and stays that way. Hopefully out of the eyes of his monarch.

“Your Majesty, may I present Doctor Watson and Mr Holmes the younger”, Harry adds undisturbed.

“Mr Holmes”, the Queen addresses Mycroft sharply who has only ever heard the Queen’s tongue directed at him in this way on two single occasions, which are burned into his mind and deeply covered with signs to not review those memories ever again. Caught off guard he takes half a step back releasing the blanket, which throws Sherlock’s equilibrium and his brother lands in an undignified heap on his knees right in front of the queen, who doesn’t even twitch staring between the brothers.

“Go and send for the equerry. “ It is few and far between that she has to give that order, but she knows Mycroft will understand and act accordingly.

Mycroft falters for a moment. Surely her majesty would not mean that but her face is stoic as he glimpses at it. There really is no choice for him here.

“Yes Ma’am”, he answers dutifully, bowing low and hurrying from the room. He has never had to go and fetch the equerry himself before, but has been witness and reason on some rare occasions.

Sherlock has picked up on the distress in his brother’s voice and normally would glee at Mycroft’s discomfort but right now he is more worried about himself. He does not dare standing up without a sure grip on his sheet and has only pulled himself into a kneeling position with the head down.

“Master Holmes! “ The queen snaps at him, displeasure clear in her tone. Short as she may be she towers over him as she’s laying down the law.

“Your Majesty”, Sherlock mumbles chastised at the childish form of address and pulls his sheet closer around himself. He might not be quite as clever as Mycroft, but he has worked out why the Queen has sent for the equerry.

“We do not tolerate guests at Buckingham Palace to run around dressed in sheets,” she continues uninterrupted. 

“Yes Ma’am.” 

“Attend him”, she orders her escorts and one of them grabs him harshly, ensuring everything is covered by the sheet and drags him into the next room, while the other follows with his clothes.

Sherlock is waiting with his arm still in the iron grip as his suit is placed on a chair in the corner with his shoes beneath it, while his guard keeps a firm hold of the sheet with his second hand. Then he is shoved into the corner, while they snatch his sheet away, leaving him startled for a second covering his privates in a haste. They start to fold his sheet with efficient precision, while he dresses himself as fast as he can.

When they re-enter less than two minutes later the queen is talking to an obvious overwhelmed Captain Watson, who is standing nearly at attention as he answers her questions. The guards indicate Sherlock to bow and he does but the Queen barely regards him in favour of the just arrived equerry and Mycroft.

Sherlock’s eyes lock onto the riding crop the new arrival is carrying and misses the softly spoken words between them. John is back to standing at the side most uncomfortable watching the scene play out in front of him without being able to interfere.

The older man steps in front of Sherlock. They are nearly at the same height, but where Sherlock is lean and lanky the equerry stands with broad shoulders and visible muscle mass under his shirt.

“Turn around and hands on the wall, son”, he says in a deep rumble, guiding Sherlock carefully into position. Sherlock shivers involuntary as his hands are placed a little more than shoulder width apart as he is bending against the wall. 

“Six strokes”, the equerry informs him as he pats him comfortingly on the small of his back, lifting his jacket out of the intended target area.

The hand vanishes as he steps back and takes careful aim. The crop’s whizzing through the air is only a short indicator before it lands with a crashing sound across his bottom, making Sherlock gasps as the first two strikes land in quick succession. He yelps as three and four land on his tender under curve where bottom and thighs meet and whimpers at the last two, obviously trying to keep silent.

“All done”, the equerry informs Sherlock and helps him righten himself as if nothing untoward has happened, pulling down his jacket and straightening it out. His fussing gives Sherlock the time to quickly wipe away the first sign of a tear before a nearly friendly pat to the shoulder reminds him of his audience. He turns around sheepishly.

“Thank you Mr. Thompson. You may return to your duties”, the queen dismisses him and he leaves with a short bow and a sure stride. 

“Master Holmes.”

Sherlock turns his eyes to the queen, dropping his hands that were trying to rub the sting out of his bum to the side, not caring how childish the gesture might seem.

“Yes Ma’am?” He really hopes that his punishment is over. That has been most humiliating.

“You took that very well, young man,” the queen praises motherly, “and I hope we do not have to repeat that lesson.” She looks at him with a raised eyebrow, fully prepared to have the equerry redo his work.

“No Ma’am”, Sherlock answers dutifully, looking down abashed. He has had enough attention for one day and his smarting bum is a strong reminder.

“Very well, then. Please continue”, she says to Harry and Mycroft this time and moves on. Her escorts falling in step behind her easily.

The four men remain behind in awkward silence. Sherlock is sulking and trying to ignore the sting in his bottom while John is mentally checking if he still has some arnica cream at home and if he should offer it to Sherlock. He is a doctor after all. On the other hand he can see the need for some attitude adjustment in Sherlock’s case and fully approves of the queen’s choice.

“I’ll get us some tea”, Mycroft offers finally and with a nod to Harry leaves the room.

“Does this happen often?” John asks Harry while walking over to Sherlock, doctor and friend winning out, to check on him.

“Not often, no. But rare as it may be, it is working wonders to remind everyone of their respective duties and proper decorum.”


End file.
